


The More Things Change

by Ladycat



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Genderbending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-12
Updated: 2014-02-12
Packaged: 2018-01-12 03:36:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1181415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ladycat/pseuds/Ladycat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Yes?" Rodney asks. His eyes are bright, almost fever-glazed, his cheeks as red as John's flushed chest, and he looks happy. "Five?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The More Things Change

The thing is, when John thinks about it which isn't anywhere near as much as he should, he _likes_ it. He likes when Rodney slides inside of him, hips pressed squarely to hips, so close that John can't breathe because Rodney's heavy and suddenly -- startlingly -- he _isn't,_ isn't at all no matter what the scale says, what his careful, cautious comparisons teach him. He feels pinned, caught, and yes, okay, the fact that Rodney just _hauled him up against a wall_ is part of that, but John knows it's more emotional that physical, a cage of worries and fears and forty years of looking at the world that wraps around him like gauze, confining and stifling when he thinks about how it's stretched over him.

But, again, he doesn't. Not all that often.

"Fuck, yes," Rodney's breathing against his throat, teeth worrying in a way John should really stop because hi, _marks._ "Stop -- chirst, stop sliding down, you need to -- "

"Trying," John pants back and he really is. He's shifting and hitching up, his back sweaty and slick and squeaking very unsexily every time Rodney pulls back long enough to get a good, long thrust in and oh, _oh,_ that's just, " _yes,_ harder, dammit, Rodney _please."_

It's never been so easy to say 'please' before. There's probably a psychological reason for it, one that has a lot more to do with John's fucked up head rather than the breasts that are pressed tightly against Rodney's chest, but honestly, John doesn't care. Rodney gets _wild_ every time and that's pretty much the only thing he cares about.

Rodney groans, abruptly baritone as he shoves and fucks and strains to do exactly as John's asked him to. It's a thrill, always, to hear how _deep_ Rodney is, especially when John's not hearing the sound so much as feeling it, shivering through skin that's softer and a little more taut that he's still used to, sliding down bones that curve in strange ways to tease against nerves he doesn't understand, never understood, and doesn't care because Rodney does, Rodney is _fantastic_ , solid and huge and hot between John's legs, his dick velvety against John's skin and isn't that a trip? Before it'd just been pressure, blunt and overwhelming, friction that made John see red-gold sparks.

Now he can _feel_ Rodney the way he never has before, the way he's so soft right up until he angles the right way and it's different than the toys they've tried, too rigid, too fake, and, "yeah, _yeah,_ god, Rodney right there, right there!"

"Trying," Rodney grunts and slides in exactly right again and again. "Grab the -- thing, above -- John, grab it I want -- "

John looks up and sees what the hell Rodney's talking about: a bar or a pipe, doesn't matter, because John wraps fingers that are narrower than he's comfortable with, tapered slightly at the tip, around metal that immediately turns into flakes that dig into his palms. It probably won't hold them for long, but it's enough leverage that Rodney can _heave_ , shoving John up a precious few inches so they can still fuck, still rut against a fucking wall like teenagers who can't wait -- they can't, they never can -- while Rodney gets his mouth around John's breasts, immediately sucking on John's nipples -- pink, almost _rosey_ and John hates that as much as Rodney loves it -- one, then they other, quick between like two kinds of cake kept on opposite ends of the room, Rodney frantically hurrying between them so neither is ever alone for long.

John whines -- okay, _whimpers_ fine, he fucking whimpers, broken and shivery, and if he's honest with himself, he always has when Rodney's this deep inside him -- looking down to comment about what Rodney looks like when he's mouthing between his breasts. The answer is 'cute', but John's too distracted by the sight of his own thighs, somehow softer and rounder for all he's still pretty lean, paler than the rounded ass they're locked around, and oh, oh, _fuck._

He thumps his head against the wall twice when his body stops trembling so hard, incredible aware that Rodney's thighs have to be _dripping_ and that he still feels hot and a little melty.

"Yes?" Rodney asks. His eyes are bright, almost fever-glazed, his cheeks as red as John's flushed chest, and he looks _happy._ "Five?"

"Five," John confirms. It's probably not fair, Rodney who limits himself to one or two, three if his body is incredible cooperative, while he drives John ever closer to double digits. It's just that he looks so damned _pleased_ with himself, never resentful, like he really is satisfied by the knowledge that he's the one to have done it.

John regrets telling him that his own explorations -- okay, attempts because having a vagina doesn't mean he isn't still competitive as hell -- topped out at four, just managing to close his teeth against the rest of the sentence: _and it wasn't very good, and I missed you, and I was way too sore afterward, and really, you can stop looking determined any time now._

He doesn't regret that part, at least. Rodney gets curiously diffident at the weirdest times and John hates that he finds himself worrying about it, trying to _soothe_ it, like his ability to sink back into denial has gone the way of his standing to pee.

Rodney leans up to kiss him, lush and sweet, like a reward for a job done well. John kisses back, letting the sweetness fade into something a lot dirtier, licking the roof of Rodney's mouth -- always surefire -- even as he shimmies his hips down maybe half an inch and _squeezes._

The noise Rodney makes reverberates all the way through John's body. "Greedy," Rodney says, fond and hungry, and drags his mouth down John's jaw to suck and nibble at his neck, licking where there's no longer an Adam's apple. "More? Can there be more?"

John tightens his legs, concentrating on muscles that are still a little unfamiliar, still a little clumsy, aware that the pattern is damned near involuntary, not something he's created just for Rodney. Still, it works because Rodney is trembling from more than just exertion now, skin hot enough to burn as John frees a hand to palm his shoulders and back, rubbing the sweat from the nape of his neck. They're moving again, or really, John is, working _himself_ up and down the wall, up and down Rodney's cock, squeezing and coaxing the way he knows Rodney loves.

"There -- there could be six," Rodney pants, but he's losing that bright-eyed, bushy-tailed _I did that!_ look, like the tag line to a tv show John really can't remember, in favor of something a lot more anxious and desperate as he starts to move, tiny little thrusts like he can't help himself while John works him as hard and as fast as he can. "I could -- I want -- "

"Sh," John interrupts, freeing one hand so he can cup Rodney's cheek, tilting him up for the kiss he's suddenly craving, warm mouth and wet, salt-edge lips, varying bitterness from both of their sweat, "I want to feel it."

Rodney shudders, hard. "Yeah? But, are you -- "

John growls, which just sounds so _weird_ in an alto, and squeezes down punishingly hard, just to watch Rodney's face go slack, his shoulders bunching. "Rodney," he grates and oh, that's the angle and they're probably going to fall down really soon and his arm _hurts_ , but he's fucking himself onto Rodney's dick, now, shoving all the way down so that there's an ache that lodges in his damned pubic bone, and it's _good_ so he does it again.

Because it's worth it. Utterly, completely worth it because Rodney lets out a short, sharp breath, and then his head goes back and body _bows_ and John can feel it, hot and slick inside of him, filling up all the spaces he's still not comfortable with, but god, he _needs_ this, needs to feel this moment when there isn't a single part of him that isn't covered in Rodney.

And that, well, that isn't different at all.


End file.
